


(we built) a dynasty

by themundaneweirdo



Series: Dynasty [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fenrir doesn’t like his looks, Gen, Implied Mpreg, Jealousy, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, Loki is Loki, Loki is trying to be a good mom, M/M, Mpreg, Not Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Compliant, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Pregnant Loki, Self-Esteem Issues, Siblings, Thor has one eye, Thor has short hair, Thor is a great dad, alternative universe, basically Thor and Loki in Ragnarok, past pregnancy, poor baby, thorki au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themundaneweirdo/pseuds/themundaneweirdo
Summary: The palace of Asgard has housed several children from every King to ever rule.





	(we built) a dynasty

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Fenrir as Ezra Miller.

The palace of Asgard has housed several children from every King to ever rule. Some of these children were rowdy, others calm and collected, and there had even been whispers that one of the past All-Father’s offspring were insane. Of course, with the harem women, there was bound to be a few bastards running around unclaimed by their father, but that was talk that was spoken amongst the village of simple folks when a new baby that bore a very strong resemblance to the King was born. Even with that, many of the paintings and stained glass windows that depict the royal families of the past have at least one thing in common; there was always one fair headed child. 

It was almost like it was customary. Every prince and princess, all the way down to King Thor, were fair haired and tan skinned. Blue and green eyes alternated between the generations, and even brown eyes were a rarity, but they all seemed so generic. There wasn’t much of a different between the royal blood lines, maybe due to inbreeding of the earlier days, and it turns Fenrir’s belly when he looks at all the remembered art of his kin folk from the days of past. 

For Fenrir, with his beauty and grace, sticks out like a sore thumb compared to his family. His hair is dark like ravens feathers, black as sin and yet soft to the touch, curling around his shoulders beautifully. His skin is supple and transparent, as if the young prince didn’t spend time outside in the gardens, whirling magic around in the air for his younger siblings. His arms and legs are gangly, long with only a small amount meat towards his thighs and calves. His taunt, narrow hips and shoulders don’t do much to make Fenrir look his age, nor does the wild look in his red eyes. These things, Fenrir can’t help but feel like he’s a disappointment next to his blonde, blue eyed siblings. 

Jörmungandr inherits most of his physical being from Thor. For only being around thirteen in Midgardian years, he certainly is broad and toned. He spends a lot of his time in the training field with their father, swinging swords, shields, and sticks in his lessons of self defense and killing skills. Jörmungandr isn’t nearly as tall as Fenrir is, which he doubts he will be for a while, but whatever he doesn’t have in height he makes up for it in physical strength and agility. Something the eldest boy has never had. 

If he remembers correctly, he was never invited to train in the muddy fields, or even to play wrestle with this father. Matter if fact, he doesn’t ever remember being exposed to the athletic aspects of being a prince is Asgard and son of Thor. Fenrir usually resigned himself to magic lessons with his mother in the quiet chambers of the library, learning small spells as parlor tricks and other, bigger, more complicated ones that could save a life. He is part Jötunn after all, and he posses a sort of power that his other siblings don’t, at least not to his degree. 

Narfi also takes after Thor more, although he is more slender like their mother, Loki. Much like the God of Thunder, Narfi enjoys riding horses and even indulges in a few rounds of wrestling. He’s only ten in Midgardian years, and he’s still growing into his body. While his hair is a lighter shade than their father’s own, and he tans a little lighter than the other males in his family, he still has baby fat in his face and body, making him appear bulky and well fed. Fenrir can’t count the times that Loki has scowled the other fair haired boy for calling his little brother fat or big. 

And little Hel. At only five Midgardian years, her chubby cheeks and grubby hands are tan, and they constantly pull at her curly, golden locks. Fenrir won’t admit it, but even in his envious void, he enjoys to look into the green eyes that sparkle and shine with love. Fenrir always finds himself smiling when he sees her in Loki’s lap, her face transfixed as their mother allows little bursts of magic to shoot from his fingertips, whirling around the little girl while she tries to grab at it. 

Fenrir knows that he gets his dark hair, fair skin, even his lanky body and red eyes from Loki. He’s the only child to take after their mother so much, he’s nearly an exact copy of his Jötunn parent. It should I make him proud of be so gorgeous compared to other youngsters that roam Asgard, female and male alike, but even when a young man looks at him with a sliver of a smirk, or a young girl glances at him in wonderment, he feels too tight in skin. 

What if they’re only looking at him because he doesn’t resemble King Thor? He is the heir to the throne, he will marry one day and produce children, and if the genes he gets from his father are recessive, Fenrir can forget about passing the tradition of fair hair and pale eyes. If this what Loki endured when he and the King first married? Did people look at him and wonder why the beautifully bronzed God of Thunder would want to wed a gangly, pale Jötunn? Fenrir can’t imagine anyone calling his mother ugly, for Loki is gorgeous to him, of course he is the embodiment of beauty. 

But, Fenrir? He doesn’t understand how his mother manages it. 

 

He watches from the side of the throne with his younger siblings, Hel’s small hand clasped in his so she won’t wander too far. Narfi and Jörmungandr playfully elbow one another, giggling under their breath until the eldest scowls them. Their father is announcing that beginning the next dawn, Fenrir will be old enough to begin to court a spouse. It brings a bitter sweet taste to Fenrir’s mouth, because he’s known for years that the day would catch him off guard, like a serpent among a crowd of people. He is prepared, yes, but not necessarily ready to be courted by anyone from any realm. Especially not when he doesn’t feel comfortable in his own skin.

“My heir and first born, Fenrir, will start his royal courting in the next dawn! And so, tonight we feast in celebration, in love, and in hopes that my child will find his partner!,” Thor booms, his one eye twinkling under the lower light of the sun that is pouring into the throne room. The crowd of Asgardians erupt into a fit of cheers and yells, all happy and excited faces. Even Loki, who usually keeps himself resigned in the presence of the people, is smiling and allows a small sliver of emotion to show in his face. 

Thor waves Fenrir over, so he lends Hel over to Jörmungandr before making his way to the throne steps, stopping when Loki places his hands on his son's shoulders. Thor steps down and takes one Fenrir’s hands in his own and raises it, and the crowd gets a little louder. 

The night had yet to begin.

 

 

“Fenrir, you must let me trim your hair tonight before bed.” 

Fenrir giggles and playfully swats at Loki’s hand as he attempts to tame the wild dark curls. He will admit, his hair hasn’t been cut in such a long time, and while his mother has kept a good job at trimming the younger boys hair, Loki has seemed to forget that his oldest is a klutz with certain things. And Fenrir doesn’t want to lose an eye like his father, no offense. 

“I remember when I was younger, you couldn’t hardly round me up to even wash me,” Fenrir smiles as sips his wine. 

Loki does, as well, but he lays a hand on his sons upper back. “Yes, but I couldn’t walk, either. I was too round with Jörmungandr at the time, darling.”

Fenrir shakes his head at the memory, laughing louder and sipping more wine. Despite his dislike for the reasoning of the celebration, he cannot lie and say he’s had a bad time. He’s enjoyed just sipping drinks and dancing with his family, he’s watched Narfi ask young maidens if they were interested in his older brother while Jörmungandr snuck small glasses of wife from the table. Fenrir has seen his father dance with little Hel on his feet, and then Thor danced again, but the second time he pulled Loki out to the dance floor. 

Fenrir adores his parents, and admires them for all they are. Loki has always told him that it wasn’t easy for he and Thor to marry, that his grandfather had always had a certain disliking to him. Odin had begged Thor not to marry the Jötunn runt, but because of the peace treaty, and the God of thunders heart, he couldn’t say no to Loki. The wedding was short, and Loki has never been able to tell him what the ceremony looked like because he was required to wear a thick veil the whole time. Odin didn’t want his natural blue form to scare the villagers. 

“Mother,” Fenrir says. “If my grandfather didn’t like your natural form, is that why you’ve taken a liking to Asgardian flesh?” 

Loki sighs and stops them in their walk through the garden. It’s always beautiful at night when the stars are twinkling high. “I took Asgardian flesh because I wanted your father to be able to show off his bride. None of my children have a known Jötunn form, but to be safe, I’ve charmed your siblings to fill out into Asgardian flesh.”

Fenrir frowns. “Why not charm me to look like father at birth, then?”

Loki sighs again, this time sitting down and patting the bench so Fenrir will join him. The younger Jötunn joins his mother, going silent as Loki gathers himself before speaking. 

“I didn’t charm you because when you were born, with my dark hair, and red eyes, your father wouldn’t allow me to change anything about you.”

Fenrir is taken aback by his mothers bold statement. Thor wouldn’t allow him to change their child to better resemble himself? Fenrir has always assumed that all Asgardians, his father included, found the Jötunn form horrible, scary, and even a little disgusting. He supposes since Loki is a runt and didn’t grow to be very big, that Thor sees him as beautiful regardless. The queen maybe he lanky and slender in places, but as for Fenrir? He’s too lanky and slender and maybe even a little underweight for his height. All he needs is blue skin and he’d be a Jötunn in the flesh.

“So, were Jörmungandr, Narfi, and Hel born like me?” 

Loki nods. “No, they’ve always looked like Thor. But, darling, look at me.”

Loki wraps a finger under Fenrir’s chin and pulls him up to look at him, and he can see the tears in the ruby orbs. The sadness is prominent, and if the young prince has hidden it for long, Loki hadn’t taken notice. How could he? Fenrir is alway seems to be happy, making playful bicker with his brothers over supper, allowing Hel to dress him up as a princess or queen during playtime, and he’s always happy to lend a hand to his parents when they need someone’s brutal opinion. The Queen supposes that he should’ve seen it, the longing glances that Fenrir throws at his fair haired siblings, envious as they receive praise for simply looking like Thor. It’s not fair, Loki agrees, but that’s how it’s always been. 

“Fenrir, you may not look like your father, you may not have his broad shoulders and harsh stance, but you are not ugly or unworthy of your title.”

The tears spill over in Fenrir’s eyes, down his cheeks and down his face. He throws himself into Loki’s arms, crying heavily and sobbing into the crook of his mother arm. Loki’s gentle fingers run over his sons curly locks, patting him softly as he cries. Fenrir feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, like a warm welcoming has finally came for him and he cannot wait to bask in it. The warm embrace of his mother comforts him like a thousand letters of love, like a kiss of healing has been bestowed on his heart. 

“Fenrir, come dance with me!”

The young prince lifted his head from his mother’s lap to see little Hel running down the garden path, her red dress swishing and swaying while she runs. She looks so much like their father it’s unsettling sometimes. “I’m coming Hel,” Fenrir smiles, still teary eyed and sniffing. He quickly hugs Loki, tight and unforgiving before parting and grasping his sisters hand, heading back to the party feeling refreshed and free. 

As Fenrir and Hel get farther and farther away, Loki feels Thor approach him from the back of the garden. Of course he eavesdropped to be informed in what was bothering his heir. 

“How is he?,” the blonde asks as he sits beside his dark haired bride, one arm sliding around Loki’s waist. The pale God smiles and leans his head on his husbands shoulder. 

“He’ll be fine, Thor.” 

Both happy and content, the watch as their oldest and youngest merge with the crowd.


End file.
